


Tricksters' Holiday

by dillonmania



Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day of the year is really special to James.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tricksters' Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few slight anachronisms in this story, but I just wanted to have fun with the concept. It's set in the Bronze Age.

It was just past nine in the morning, and Digger was already getting a beer; being a Rogue meant that nobody could question a man’s lifestyle choices, at least not without getting punched. He cracked open a can of Keystone Lager, took a swig, and his eyes widened in horror.  
“This is bleedin’ tonic water!” he bellowed as he spat it out and threw the can across the room, narrowly missing Hartley’s head. The other man calmly picked up the can for examination, and peeled off a beer label which had been pasted over the tonic water’s with only minimum effort.  
“Did you forget what day it is? It’s April 1st,” he reminded Digger with a slight smile, and the Australian swore loudly.  
“Ah, bugger this -- I’m going to the shop to get some real beer, and tell that little drongo not to pull any more stupid pranks.”

***

The Rogues had a battered old factory building which served as a flophouse of sorts for those who wanted it. All of them kept their own apartments elsewhere, but the factory was a place where they could sleep, hang out, and hide from the law when it suited them. Each had his own room upstairs, made out of former offices and storerooms, and it wasn’t unusual for them to have a companion over. Today, Roscoe was fast asleep with his new girlfriend Lisa on an old rollaway couch bed.

Asleep until an air horn went off next to his head, of course. Both woke up yelling in surprise, only to see a hooded Captain Cold standing next to the bed and looking very angry indeed, at which point they yelled louder.  
“I can explain!” Roscoe panicked, because Len didn’t know about their relationship yet. “She needed a place to sleep, and like a gentleman I offered my room!”  
“Nothing happened, we were just sleeping in the same bed!” Lisa protested, and indeed they were mostly dressed. But Len just laughed helplessly.  
“Haaaa, you should see the looks on your faces!” he cackled, sounding very much unlike himself. “Fortunately I recorded all of this for posterity.”

Roscoe’s brows knitted together in absolute fury as he connected the dots and put himself between Lisa and the Trickster. “Jesse!” he shouted in a rage, but there was also obviously relief that they could still break the news to Len at their own pace. He put a calming hand on Lisa’s arm, because otherwise there was a fairly good chance that she’d spring out of bed and do something to James that everyone would regret.

But you can’t make a racket like that in a building full of people and not expect others to come running. Len was particularly concerned when he’d heard a scream and some yelling that sounded like his sister, so he had to find out what the other idiots were up to now. And then he got an eyeful of Lisa in bed with _that man_ , so it was his turn to do some yelling at Roscoe.

***

Mark groaned and rubbed his eyes as he staggered down the street. Awakened from drunken slumber by an argument between Roscoe and Len, he’d decided to get the hell out of Roguehaus for the morning and rob a jewellery store. He’d need to pay Digger for winning the bet on whether or not Len would punch Roscoe when he found out about the secret relationship. (Mark had wagered that Len would be a dignified adult about it.)

He mugged a guy for his Egg McMuffin and stumbled into a jewellery store a few kilometres away from the hideout.  
“May I help you, sir?” the clerk asked him politely, ignoring that his mouth was full of food and he had some stuck to his cheek.  
“Yeah. You can give me all the jewels in this case,” Mark said with a sly grin. “`Cause this is a robbery,” he clarified helpfully after a pause, and she rolled her eyes.  
“Yes, sir,” she replied through gritted teeth as she pressed the silent alarm. She opened a single case, scooped up all the jewellery inside, and dropped it into his bag with distinct annoyance.  
“There, now get lost. The police have already been called, and will be here any moment,” she told him firmly, much to his astonishment.  
“You…you’re kidding. Don’t you know who I am? I’m the Weather Wizard!” he said indignantly, raising his wand with the usual dramatic flair. He liked to put fear into the hearts of civilians so they knew how outmatched they were and to remind them who was boss. But there was no lightning or rain when he waved the wand this time, and when he fluttered it again there was still nothing, not even a gentle puff of wind.

“Um,” he said uncomfortably and gave the wand a good shaking, but to absolutely no effect. He looked more closely at it, and was horrified to notice that it was in fact just a mediocre copy of his treasured weapon. _Made by Giovanni Giuseppe, Esq._ was engraved down the faux-wand’s handle, and he suddenly realized that he’d been made a fool.  
“TRICKSTER!!” was all he could shout in indignant rage, clenching his fists, but was quickly brought out of his tantrum by the clerk clearing her throat.  
“I think you’d better go now,” she told him with an amused expression, already thinking about how to describe this encounter to the media. “You’ve got food stuck at the side of your mouth, by the way.”  
Mark absolutely wilted. “Aw, crap…you mean I literally have egg on my face? Today’s been the worst.”  
He hurried out of the store before the cops could arrive and jogged home, smarting with frustration and anger.

***

“Where’s Jesse?!” Mark demanded angrily when he arrived back at the hideout, and discovered he wasn’t the only one looking for the self-styled prince of pranksters.  
“That little jerk put saran wrap in the john!” Len snarled.  
“And those donuts were full of mayo,” Hartley said with a shudder, still able to taste it.  
“He filled all my lighters with water!” Mick complained. The others actually liked that stunt; it meant another day without risk of the building burning down.  
“So where the hell is he?” Mark repeated, and the others shrugged in helpless frustration. They’d been fruitlessly looking for him for a while.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” came a familiar voice behind them, and James bounced cheerfully into view. “Great day today, huh?”  
“Dammit, Jesse, you ruined my heist!” Mark told him furiously, while the others chimed in with their own grievances about his pranks. The Trickster just shrugged and grinned.  
“It’s April Fool’s Day, guys, so it’s pretty much the law. I didn’t start the tradition!”  
“Har-dee-har-har, funnyman. Where the hell’s my wand?”  
“Right here, of course. I only palmed it for the morning!” James chirped as he pulled it from his pant leg and handed it over with the sunniest of smiles. Mark yanked it away from him and suspiciously examined it until completely satisfied that it was indeed the real wand. Only Len’s disapproving expression prevented him from then drenching James in a localized deluge…mostly because everybody would be furious at him for ruining the game room.

“C’mon fellas, lighten up,” James told the others as he threw an arm around Hartley, who edged away from him for fear of joy buzzers or sneezing powder. “These pranks were pretty harmless, but you should see what cool stuff I’ve dreamed up for the Flash!”

But there was suddenly a loud boom within the building, coming from the area the Rogues considered to be their front door. Everyone’s head whipped around in that direction, and they all reached for their weapons immediately.  
“Attention Rogues’ Gallery: this is the police department! Come out with your hands up!” a voice commanded with a bullhorn. Moments later, the voice added “We know you’re in there, Weather Wizard!”  
“Oh fuck!” Len spat out, and everyone got to their feet with weapons in hand.  
“What now?” Mick asked worriedly as Roscoe spun into the room and skidded to a stop. His eye had been blackened earlier and he cast a resentful glare at Len, although there was no time for an argument about it now.  
“We’ll punch our way out,” Len said with grim resolve as he put on his visor and powered up the cold gun. “They won’t take us without a fight.”

The Rogues slipped quietly out of the room and crept down the hall towards the factory’s loading dock. The booming voice was now doing a countdown over the loudspeaker, after which it promised the police would storm the interior and arrest everyone inside.  
“We go out as a team and hit them all at once,” Len said in a low voice as they stood just outside the antechamber. “They might nail a couple of us, but the rest should get away easy.”

Mark counted to three, and the entire group swarmed through the bay doors while shooting wildly. But the police officers standing twenty feet away didn’t react at all.  
“They’re dummies!” Hartley exclaimed, although everyone had already come to that conclusion. Which could only mean—  
“Goddammit Jesse, you and your fucking pranks!” Len raged as James doubled over with laughter. Hartley was chuckling too, while Mick and Roscoe seemed bewildered and Mark was just as angry.

“You guys seriously have the best expressions of anyone I’ve ever known!” James howled delightedly. “ _So_ glad I invested in high-quality cameras to capture your reactions; best money I ever spent. Now we can enjoy it again and again!” He laughed hysterically as the other Rogues digested what had happened with a variety of emotions, and Len looked like he might go apoplectic. He used his cold gun to freeze the sophisticated sound system James had rigged up to impersonate the police, and the Trickster chortled even harder at his grumpy response.

“Well, at least we didn’t really get busted,” Mick reasoned with some chagrin, determined to see the bright side of all this and hoping to calm down their furious friend.  
“I suppose it was sort of funny,” Roscoe said with an enigmatic smile, secretly delighted by Len’s outrage and the fact that his words seemed to make the other man even angrier. It didn’t matter that he was still annoyed about James’ earlier prank in his room, because payback on the guy who’d punched him was even more important. He began to grin happily at the thought of revenge, and went off to find Lisa.

“You idiots are ridiculous,” Len growled, and stomped off for a much-needed beer. But unfortunately Digger and the others had neglected to tell him about the mislabelled tonic water, so he ended up with yet another ugly surprise. It was the point at which a grateful Roscoe forgave James for all earlier practical jokes, and anonymously slipped a hundred dollar bill under his door as thanks.

***

The next day, someone scribbled _new Rogue rule: no pranks!_ on the hideout’s communal whiteboard. James protested that it violated his constitutional right to freedom of religion, although strangely the others were unmoved by this legal argument and the decree still stood. But it was no big deal to be fined for breaking the rule occasionally, particularly because somebody kept leaving cash under his door every time he pissed off Len. James always pretended to be mystified about the identity of the unnamed benefactor, but made sure to hit Roscoe up for cash on the one instance payment was late. After all, even an artist had to eat. 


End file.
